Same time next week
by Laynemorgan
Summary: And in that last sentence Santana hears two things that are worse than yellow frosted cupcakes and lavender scented candles combined. She hears 'next week' and 'Santana.' Quinntana, a couple years in the future, semi AU
1. Chapter 1

By the time Santana gets back to her dorm it has been one of those days from the depths of hell that roll around every couple of weeks. 6 am cheerleading practice, three lectures, a women's studies meeting, and an exam in one of her most important criminal justice classes. An entire night spent up studying –She can never seem to study when she's supposed to if at all- proved less than successful and not even shoveling down dinner at the pizza place with some of the girls from the team buried the feeling of being disappointed with herself. _Next time_. She mutters under her breath as she drops her back just inside the doorway and kicks off her shoes directly beside it. Next time she'll actually focus. Or at least… she'll try not to let her mind wander. Next time she won't screw it up. Because if one more thing gets screwed up she just might lose it.

Slipping into sweatpants, She shuts the light off in her room without even doing anything else. It's only 8pm but she's exhausted and for once extremely grateful for having a single room. After her freshmen year roommate had said she was too loud and sometimes had fits of rage that scared her, Santana decided rooming alone was probably better. She climbs into bed and practically dozes off before her head even hits the pillow, falling into a light sleep that's only interrupted by a faint buzzing beneath her pillow.

Santana pulls her phone out and sees the little red symbol blink. A new voicemail. She normally doesn't even check them. It's always her abuela, or telemarketers leaving annoying, automated messages. She mumbles something that wouldn't sound like a word to any human being, and shoves her touch screen phone back under her pillow.

"Hey, Santana."

The voice comes from the phone underneath the pillow and for just a moment Santana is positive she's dreaming. It wouldn't be the first time that same, feathery sounding voice echoed in her dreams. But it sounds different coming through the speaker and Santana quickly pulls the phone back in time to clearly catch the rest of the message that she must have accidentally pressed to play.

"It's me. No—sorry. It's Quinn."

She scoffs, and almost laughs, shaking her head at the suggestion that she wouldn't have known who it was. And then, for a second, it hurts that Quinn would think she wouldn't know. Has it been that long?

"I know it's been a while and this is kind of out of the blue and I shouldn't—I just wanted to talk to you. How are you? How's…whatever you're doing now. God, it's weird that I don't know. Is it weird for you?"

It has been that long.

Santana pauses the voicemail because she has to inhale a deep enough breath not to tear up and she's afraid to miss a second of it. She didn't realize until taking that breath that she hadn't been breathing at all and it comes out choked sounding. The room feels temporarily lighter and Santana can breathe for a second. She realizes with a heavy heart that that's how her world has been working lately. Anytime she smells popcorn, or sees a yellow frosted cupcake, -hell if she sees any cupcake- spots the gray kitten that lives across the hall, or anything that references Romeo and Juliet, catches the smell of lavender, hot fudge, tequila, the pillows she had to replace to make the lingering essence of cherry blossom shampoo go away… she thinks of Quinn. And that choking feeling comes back and she has to stop to breathe again. Just like now.

But then without the tiny reminders, without the Yale t-shirt she still wears to bed, and the texts she still hasn't deleted, without the being able to listen to that _damn_ mix tape, she would miss Quinn that much more. And so with another heavy sigh, after a minute or two or… seven, she presses the play button to listen to what's left of the recording of the familiar voice

"Is—I'm asking a lot of questions, and this is a voicemail so you can't even answer them. Actually, you're probably busy anyways. Santana Lopez doesn't usually miss something on her phone. Unless… I don't know—maybe there are things you do now that are more—or you probably just saw this number and didn't recognize it and so you'll get this voicemail in a few minutes in which case maybe I should—Sorry."

Santana shakes her head. Despite knowing exactly who it is, this voice isn't as familiar as she thought it was at all. That was why she had known it wasn't the Quinn in her dreams. This voice was sad. It was slow and hollow sounding. She rambled. It lacked confidence. Even her rambles were quiet and unsure, not the speedy, excited kind. Santana raked her lip through her teeth and stopped, remembering just how many times she had seen Quinn do it. It was probably a reaction she had picked up from her in the years they were together. But at the next words, Santana finds the faintest of smiles, just to know Quinn was thinking about her… even when she didn't want her to.

"I just wanted to see how you were and… and say hi." I'm kind of busy so I'll… try back again… same time next week. Goodnight, Santana."

And in that last sentence Santana hears two things that are worse than yellow frosted cupcakes and lavender scented candles combined. She hears 'next week' and 'Santana.'

* * *

Quinn waits outside the phone booth for five minutes. A part of her is desperately hoping that Santana will somehow call back. She doesn't even know if it's possible to call back a payphone and waiting can't hurt. But it can hurt. In the first minute it's just a dull ache, almost like something that lingers. Almost like that moment comes back for just a second when she saw—and then in the second and third minute it actually hurts. Hurts the way stubbing your toe does, or getting the 24 hour flu. The kind of hurt that makes you feel just for the time it lasts that you're actually going to die, that anything could be better. The last two minutes happen slowly. They're a progression from feeling like the biggest fool alive, to accepting that that phone, in that booth isn't going to just start ringing.

A drop of water pools by Quinn's nose and she promises herself it's the rain. She lifts her hand, only the smallest fraction of an inch, as if she's going to reach for something. Maybe the glass door, or maybe to reach to wave goodbye. But she doesn't want to say goodbye which was why she had said 'goodnight' in the first place. It's why she'll come back next week and try again. Maybe she was reaching for that phone, thinking that if she called back one more time, Santana would answer, having heard her message and now knowing the number.

But she doesn't do that. Quinn Fabray has at least an ounce of dignity left. Or she likes to think so. She can't just dump it all in one place… especially not if she's going to come back and call again same time next week. The Quinn that she was supposed to be by this point in her life would never call back someone who hurt them, not the same time next week, not after a year… not after five. But it's been the hardest year, and not because of New York, or the leak in her roof, or all night shifts at the diner. It's been the hardest year because it's empty. Some people would say that Quinn spent quite a few portions of her life alone, but none quite like this year. It's different to be alone by your own doing, and your own independence, than to be alone with a piece gone. It's different to be alone when there's supposed to be something there and it isn't, because while that piece is missing from where it's supposed to be… it's present everywhere else. And so the Quinn Fabray she is now, steals one last look at the payphone and walks away trying to avoid soaking her work shoes in each puddle as she rounds the two blocks from her payphone to the tall, grungy, red apartment building that she calls a place to live, trying to get the words of Santana's voicemail recording out of her head:

"You've obviously reached Santana's phone. And I'm obviously not here right now. Abuela, if it's you, I'm fine. Yes I ate lunch today. No Puck, you still can't come meet the cheerleading team. If you're selling shit, stop and don't even bother with your stupid ass voicemail. If it's anyone else, and you're still part of the era that thinks leaving voicemails is a thing, leave a message. If I remember to check it I'll call you back. And by the way… I'm still sorry."

**A/n: I have two potential title ideas for this story: "By the way" and "This time next week" What are your thoughts? Or does anyone have any different title suggestions?**


	2. Chapter 2

It's already Thursday night. The same time next week that it was last week. Santana had spent half the week telling herself that she wouldn't answer when Quinn called again—if Quinn called again. The broken sounding blonde girl on the other end of that phone line had already suffered enough at her hand. Santana didn't want to answer that call and have to tell Quinn things she wouldn't want to hear. She didn't want to tell Quinn exactly the things she needed to tell her. That she still missed her every second, and that the Yale t-shirt she had given her was getting worn out and she needed a new one. That she was sorry, every single day. She needed to say those things but she couldn't. Quinn could never know how sorry she was, or how much Santana missed her or needed her. That had been the reason for all of this, and while Santana had closed her voicemail recording out with that quiet apology in hopes that that would make up for it, she knew that having Quinn back was something that would not happen. It was something she couldn't let happen.

Santana had spent half the week saying that she would watch that number light up on the screen, and press ignore. Maybe it would stop short ringing, and Quinn would know she had ignored it and stop trying. Maybe then Quinn would be hurt enough to quit. Obviously she wasn't hurt enough yet. Santana began to feel sick thinking about it. She could see the nervous lip bite, and the look of disappointment on Quinn's face without even being in that payphone booth with her. She could hear the shake in her breath, and the added break, another crack, in the rough exterior of Quinn Fabray, making Santana yet another pressure point to make that voice sound so hollow.

Pacing her room wasn't helping. If Quinn was going to call the same time this week as she had last week, Santana knew her phone would be rining any minute. Was it too cocky of Santana to thinking Quinn was calling because she wanted her back? She had hurt her already. Maybe thinking that she wouldn't be able to answer was wrong. She wouldn't have to hurt Quinn further. She already had. Maybe Quinn really was just calling to see how she was doing. That was a normal thing right? Exes did that, sure.

"Damnit!" Santana kicked her desk chair.

Exes did that. But not ones who had been burned like Santana had burned Quinn. She bent her body by her desk, letting her head fall into her arms as if she were too weak to hold her upper half up. She saw that look on Quinn's face she had pictured just a moment before. The hurt look in her eyes, that same lip bite, the shaky breath. It wasn't in the phone booth that she was picturing it. Santana knew that image. She knew that image from a year ago when it was standing right in front of her face.

"_Where's Quinn?" _

"_Gone."_

"_Gone where?"_

"_She has rehersal." Santana huffed, feeling a little bit impatient with how nervous Arianna seemed. "Aren't you supposed to know that? You're her roommate."_

_Arianna just shook her head, and went back to kissing Santana as she had been before. _

_The girl was nothing like who Santana would be kissing. Honestly she wasn't even sure if Arianna was into girls at all. But she hadn't seemed to object too much to Santana's come ons, however forward. Santana almost hated the girl for considering herself Quinn's friend. But she didn't have time to think about lessons in morality right now while she was beneath her girl friend's roommate in only a bra. _

_Arianna was a pretty girl. Long, light brown hair and a bit taller than Quinn. She was a cheerleader. She and Quinn actually got along fairly well most of the time. _

_It was funny that in a moment like that all Santana could think of was Quinn. But it didn't surprise her, not in the slightest. Everything she did was for Quinn, about Quinn, because of Quinn. Just like this. Just like tasting an unfamiliar person, feeling skin against her own that was rougher than Quinn's, not as pale or smooth, breathing in the scent of shampoo that smelled like coconuts and not cherry blossoms as darker hair fell on to her face. It almost made her sick and Santana almost thought of stopping. She could still stop it. She had a few more minutes._

_Quinn wasn't at rehearsal. She was at a meeting with her counselor about switching her major. She would be back any minute. _

_It was just one small white lie to Arianna. It would look just like a mistake. And too Quinn it would just like—_

"_Santana?"_

_Santana heard the door open but pretended to be enthralled in what she was doing with Arianna. Only when she heard her name did she look up with a blank expression. Arianna flew off of her at lightening speeds and pressed her back against the wall staring dumfounded at Quinn. Santana didn't know whether or not to fake shock but Arianna's expression probably did enough for both of them. She could see the look in Quinn's eyes. It was hurt, angry, broken almost instantly. Quinn raked her lip through her teeth, and instantly Santana wanted to say her name, apologize a hundred thousand times over. She wanted to spring from the bed and wrap her arms around the girl standing in the doorway looking like someone had shattered her entire world in front of her. _

But she couldn't. There was a reason for all of this. And so without saying anything, and trying to choke down her own forming tears, Santana had leapt from the bed, threw a hooded sweatshirt over her unclothed top half, and flown out of the room, leaving that shocked looking face standing behind her.

Maybe that's why that was the only face Santana could picture now when she thought of not answering the phone. That was the last time she had seen Quinn. She had run back to school, avoided the couple of confused texts, only answering one to tell Quinn that she was back at school and alive so she wouldn't worry, and slipped into a world without Quinn Fabray in it. And for a year, it had been almost okay. She had been able to at least function like a person who wasn't torn in half daily. Her other half walking around in Connecticut somewhere assuming that she wanted nothing to do with her. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was exactly what her plan with Arianna wasn't. But Santana couldn't not answer the phone when it rang. She couldn't even wait for the second ring.

"Quinn?" It was the least smooth approach ever and there was a hint of worried excitement to Santana's voice.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"You got my …message?" There was that same hesitation. The same quietness to Quinn's voice. It filled Santana with her own sadness, and her voice came out just as oddly not confident.

"… Yeah."

A long silence then filled the phone call. Quinn had a hundred thousand questions, and Santana had a hundred thousand concerns and neither of them knew what to say.

"I'm sorry I just—"

Santana cut Quinn off. "Don't."

"What?"

"Apologize."

The line went quiet again and Quinn didn't say anything.

"This is a payphone number." Santana finally sad bluntly.

"Yeah."

Santana couldn't help but notice Quinn's voice seem to shrink to an even more quiet volume. "Q?" She didn't even think when she used the familiar nickname. There was a questioning tone in her voice, and a hint of concern. Santana tried to remind herself that she couldn't let Quinn think she was sorry. But of course that was what she wanted. She hadn't recorded it in her voice mail recording all those months ago so Quinn wouldn't hear it.

"What?"

"Why are you calling me from a payphone?"

"It's outside of my apartment."

Santana could practically hear Quinn bite her lip. She assumed that was how it was when you knew a person like she knew Quinn. You could tell just by their voice what they were doing. Right now, Quinn's fingers were toying with something nervously. Maybe her sleeve, maybe the phone chord. And the corner of her lips was tucked into her teeth, while her eyes searched around as if they could find what to say in her surroundings. She didn't need to say anything. Santana knew by the tone that there were answers Quinn didn't want to give. It made her worry but she wouldn't push.

"How's school?" Santana finally asked, hoping to change the subject and not scare Quinn off with questions she obviously didn't want to answer.

"Good." Was all Quinn replied.

"Good."

"How's cheerleading?"

"Good."

"Good."

"Are you doing okay, Quinn?" Santana's voice dropped a little. It was more gentle. Quinn could hear in her tone that Santana was worried. The last thing she wanted was for Santana to worry about her, pity her. She swalloed, trying to think of an answer.

"Of course."

"Because you're really okay? Or because you're Quinn Fabray?"

Leave it to Santana to see right through most of Quinn's bullshit. "Both." It was an honest answer. One that she hoped Santana would take at face value. "Listen, San, I've got to go. I just wanted to.. check up."

"Will you call back?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Quinn."

"Same time next week. Goodnight, Santana."

"Night, Q."

With that, Quinn put the pay phone back in it's cradle. She swallowed the nervous lump that had formed in her throat back down and stepped back outside.

She couldn't help but wonder what Santana was thinking. All week Quinn had played the words of Santana's voice recording in her head. _"and by the way, I'm still sorry."_

Part of Quinn didn't want to believe that apology was directed at her but a part of her prayed that it was. But it could be to anyone. Maybe to Arianna, or some other girl. Maybe Santana had found someone else and maybe she had—but she said 'still.' _Still sorry._ Quinn tossed the words around over and over and even more so now as she walked to the diner. Still sorry would mean she had been sorry before, and she didn't look sorry. Not when her body was intertwined with Quinn's roommate. Not when she flew out of the room without a word. She hadn't looked sorry the six times Quinn had called that day, or the three times the day after that.. She hadn't looked sorry when Quinn found her cheerleading competitions on the tv and watched them. But if she said still—

She had never said sorry before.

Shaking her head, Quinn stopped herself from thinking about it anymore. The small watch on her wrist displayed 10:00 pm just as she walked up to the diner. The four girls from the evening shift skipped out as she walked in. They only needed one person to work the late nights, so Quinn usually spent them alone, listening to the radio and cleaning whatever she could find in the place until the morning girl came in at 6am. Tonight, Quinn couldn't get her mind off Santana. Not that that was different from many other nights. But tonight she felt odd for being in the diner. Why had she told Santana school was okay. She wasn't even at school. When she asked, why couldn't Quinn have just had a real conversation, told her she was in New York now, working now. Maybe next time. Maybe if Quinn could find some of the courage she used to have, buried in self doubt, she could explain things better. She had promised to call back, same time next week, and if she couldn't tell Santana the truth, she almost didn't mind letting her believe the… not so truth.

**Authors note: There are still pieces from their story missing. I just wanted to make sure that no one that they were lost. Their past, and their break up will come to light slowly as the weeks go on. The chapters will also probably get longer eventually as well. **

**I'd really love to hear all of your thoughts on the way it's working out before I keep going. Any input would be really appreciated. **

**Also, feel free to find me on tumblr. I post updates and things there as well: .**


	3. Chapter 3

_**AN: This entire chapter us a flashback. I figure it was the best way to make up for some of the crazy angst and also give a little bit of backstory as to how they started dating and such. Oh and... it may or may not be smut. **  
_

**_This time last year minus two weeks: (January)_**

"Santana, you can't stay another night. You're going to be back next weekend as it is."

"Of course I am. It's your dress rehearsal week Q, someone's going to have to be there to get all that tension out of your back when you run yourself into the ground?'

"I'm going to run you in to the ground. Seriously, San, I love you here, you know I do but you have to go actually be a part of your team some weekends."

"Quinn you just told me you would run me into the ground and now you actually expect me to leave?" Santana's eyes widen the way they do when she's teasing, even if she's a little serious, and Quinn can't help but smile and shake her head. They have the same argument whenever Santana comes to visit. Of course they both want her to stay, but Quinn also knows that Santana has to actually be at college in order to attend.

For the previous five months, Santana had been visiting at least one weekend a month, sometimes more. Quinn would try and talk her out of the double and triple visits but she never won the argument. It was hard not to give in when your girlfriend was Santana Lopez and you wanted to see her arguably more than she said she wanted to see you. They also weren't used to spending much time apart. That summer they had decided to move in together, Quinn not wanting to return to her mom's house, and Santana not wanting to go back to Lima where Brittany would be. Somewhere between the months of June and August, between sheets, and over an extra screwdriver or two, Quinn had eventually given in to the unavoidable realization that she would much prefer to be with a girl, and not just any girl but Santana. Quinn went back to Yale in the fall, and Santana back to her school in Boston where she was cheerleading, both promising to see each other whenever they could and sticking to the promise almost better than any other they had made in their lives.

Quinn places a light kiss on Santana's cheek, leaving their faces close together. "You really do have to leave." She says much more gently this time.

"But Quinn, you just said—" Santana starts to argue some sort of comical but serious in a Santana needs her lady love kind of point but Quinn cuts her off.

There's a certain kind of smirk that plays on Quinn's face only when she's trying to be sexy, and she has to be perfectly comfortable in order for it to happen. It had taken Santana months to get Quinn fully out of her shell with sex and being comfortable with her own, but now whenever she sees that smirk, Santana's eyes light up. That's the Quinn Fabray she's always known. The one who wants something and gets it, the one who knows she's hot even if she doesn't always believe it, and is trying just a tiny bit too hard but makes it look cute. Santana knows that face better than only about one or two others, the one Quinn makes when she's sad and trying not to be, and the one Quinn makes when her lips fall open and her eyes fall shut.

She narrows her eyes because if Quinn is teasing it's a terrible time to be doing so. But almost immediately following that devilish little smirk, Quinn stands up just a little, before straddling Santana's lap at the edge of the bed. Both of her hands cup her girlfriend's face, fingers trailing backwards to tangle in dark hair as she speaks. "If it's into the ground you want, I think we can work something out." Her voice is husky, almost like it usually is but just a little different when she's like this. Then she smiles, her tone rising just slightly as she cocks her head. "But after you leave."

"You drive a tough bargain, lady Fabray."

"Mhmm." Quinn nods, the sound doesn't even fully come out because she then presses her lips a little roughly against the thicker ones just in front of them. Santana's hands snake around Quinn's waist, fingertips lifting the edge of the Yale T-shirt she's wearing to trail circles across the skin along her lower back. This isn't one of those times for going slow, though, and within seconds Santana lifts the shirt over Quinn's head and Quinn doesn't hesitate to do the same with Santana's just before she topples them both over so Santana is lying below her on the mattress.

Quinn leans over, peppering kisses from Santana's jaw, down her neck, across her collarbone to the stretch of flat, smooth skin in the middle of her chest. Santana's fingers are already pressing down into Quinn's back, the same way Quinn's hips are already pressing down into Santana's. Neither of them stop moving. This is a comfortable rhythm for them, just a little fast, their hips rolling into each other generating small sparks of want that are already tugging at their insides. Quinn slides her body downward. She removes her own pants, revealing the lace yellow underwear that match her bra, before undoing the button on Santana's jeans with a simple flick of carefully practice fingers, She removes her girlfriend's pants as well, sliding them down her legs slower than any of their other movements have been as if she's playing a game not only with Santana but with herself. Quinn tucks her bottom lip below her top teeth, it holds back that other grin that Santana knows is coming. Unlike the first one, this is the grin that comes when Quinn is trying to suppress a wide smile. Santana can tell by the way her cheeks ball up.

"Come here." She whispers, smiling a little herself and grabbing both sides of Quinn's face. Quinn doesn't lose a second, she levels their bodies again, dipping her back to where it had been before at the valley of Santana's breasts. She moves her hands back, unclipping Santana's bra and discarding it off the bed just before her lips cover the tip of her girlfriend's left breast. The tips of Quinn's other finger trail gently over Santana's other breast, flicking the top of it and rolling it between her finger and thumb before her mouth moves over to that one as well.

The first time Quinn had topped had been the third time they slept together, a week after the first time. It was also the first time they had done so sober. Santana remembered that she had to talk so much in order to keep Quinn confident, even if it wasn't something she did too much. She also remembered that she didn't see why Quinn wouldn't be confident. Despite having had almost no experience in that way, there was something about the hint of nervousness in her kisses, the almost always perfect way Quinn did things, the look of concentration on her face, and the fact that Quinn was actually choosing not only to be with her but to be in control when she was sober that had Santana more wound up then she had probably ever been. It's impossible to remember ever climax, every touch, but Santana had never forgot that one, and her favorite thing every time Quinn lay on top of her was the hazy memory of that night and their realizations that came with it that lightly flickered through her mind.

As Quinn attentively toyed her tongue and teeth against her right breast, Santana's hands move up the soft skin of her back, dragging her nails gently until she found the crook of Quinn's neck and they wrap into satin blonde hair that always smells of cherry blossom shampoo. Quinn's hands move to replace her mouth and her lips move lower, trailing a stream of kisses down the tan skin of Santana's stomach. She drags her other hand with it and it snakes with a slightly tight trip down the side of Santana's body, stopping to rest on her hip, against lace black underwear. The way her girlfriend's body curves is one of Quinn's favorite things. She remembers the first time she noticed and realizing how much softer Santana was than Puck. How she smelled better, and tasted better, and how it could be about one of them and both of them at the same time. Hooking her thumb through the side of Santana's underwear, Quinn slips them off much faster than she had the jeans and tosses them on the floor beside their matching bra. Her head falls again, body snaking lower along her small dorm bed and she places the lightest of kisses on the low dip of skin between Sanantana's right thigh and her hip. She kisses her again, moving lower and lower and out of the corner of her eye she sees Santana fumble to find a grip in her sheets. At the realization, Quinn would normally tease her but this time has to be a little quicker than normal and so instead, she wraps her own hand in Santana's fingers so that both of their palms lay flat against the mattress. Timed almost exactly with the meeting of their hands, Quinn places another soft kiss, this time directly at the apex of Santana's thighs. She then props herself up on the elbow of the hand that's holding her girlfriend's and with her opposite knee pushes Santana's leg open just enough before running a finger on her free hand along the inside of her already slick folds.

As soon as there's contact, Santana's hips lift just a little off the bed but she forces herself to keep them down again (a practice she's learning from all of Quinn's teasing) as she feels the pad of Quinn's thumb begin to rub small circles over the most sensitive part of her sending jolts of heat into her core. She can't keep her hips from moving much longer and Quinn must notice because she then slips a finger against her entrance, stroking for just a second too long before pushing it inside. Quinn always looks up for this part. Santana's lips part just a little, her eyes already half hooded. It's beautiful and perfect and makes her own body curse with desire and Quinn only looks back down when she feels Santana's walls still tight around her finger and her hips rising to meet her palm.

"Quinn…" Santana whispers. It almost sounds like a breath. Quinn can't tell if it's a plea or a command but she doesn't wait any longer. Her finger begins to move at a regular pace inside of Santana's body.

Kisses are Quinn's favorite. She loves the feeling of skin against her lips and so as she adds another finger on the next outward movement, she also places a more hungry, open mouthed kiss on the inside of Santana's thigh, then a more gentle one, then a small nip of her teeth that she kisses over again. She moves her lips, in the same open mouthed fashion as the first kiss, along her girlfriend's thigh until she finds her core, where her fingers are still steadily moving. Quinn's tongue slides across the small nub just as Santana's hips rise and she can almost feel the wave of pleasure move straight through her girlfriend's body and into her own.

Santana's breath beings to become short. Her other hand, the one that isn't pressing against Quinn's fingers moves back to blonde locks, not forcefully but just for something to hold on to. Her insides are coiling, tighter and hotter as Quinn's tongue moves along her center, nipping and sucking and flicking in Quinn's always unpredictable pattern.

"God.." Santana isn't even sure she hears the word as she says it, but Quinn is definitely sure. The smallest of laughs vibrates in her chest and the air blows against Santana's body. She quickens her thrusts, every now and then curling her fingers upward just as her tongue moves and within a few more seconds she feels Santana tighten around her fingers and unravel beneath her tongue. Santana's back arches, her shoulders pressing into Quinn's pillow and she loses her breath and her mind for a moment.

Quinn stops the movement of her tongue but she doesn't remove her fingers. Lifting her body, she trails a few more, slightly sloppier kisses against Santana's stomach, still moving the digits inside her to slowly bring her girlfriend down. Santana's skin glistens a little, and when Quinn reaches her neck she whispers an "I love you" against it before bringing their lips together again and letting her fingers slip out.

Santana almost can't think enough to kiss her back. Her body is high and her head comes back slowly. Her fingers are back in Quinn's hair and she holds their faces close together meeting there lips in one slow kiss after another while she catches her breath. "I love you too." She finally whispers back.

Quinn grins again. This time it's more accomplished than the first two. It makes Santana's face light up just the same, though. She wraps her arms around her girlfriend's body above her and flips them in a fluid movement that causes the bed to bang against the wall. Quinn erupts into giggles and Santana kisses her again. "I love you. I love you." She mutters in between them. It definitely wasn't the first time they had said the words, but even now Santana couldn't get enough of telling Quinn that. Had she known then that it would have been one of the last times, she would have said it more, or stopped Quinn from saying that now she had to actually leave.

"Fine" Santana shakes her head, standing from the bed to get dressed again. She pulls her her bra and underwear back on while Quinn sits sprawled out, still in her own, on top of the bed. Her hair is tossed against the pillow and it's everything in Santana's power to not climb back in with her and leave her feeling the light hum in her head that she currently felt. "I could stay and return the favor." She suggests one more time.

"Go!" Quinn shouts and tosses Santana her jeans. "I mean it San, they're going to start making you pay tuition here too." Santana climbs back into her jeans and Quinn tosses the Yale t-shirt that she had been wearing herself at her. "Here." Santana slips it on and notices how it smells like flowery laundry detergent and vanilla. Quinn always smells like that. It will keep her until next week if she doesn't wash it.

Santana leans over and kisses Quinn one more time. "I'll see you at the train station next weekend. Same time."

**An: I'm a little rusty on my smut writing so I apologize if any of you weren't fond of it. I do hope you enjoyed though. As always feedback would be wonderful.**


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